Stabbing In The Front
by blacksouledbutterfly
Summary: The irony isn't lost to him, not in the slightest. Of all the ways that he could have imagined all of this ending this would have made the bottom of the list if it was lucky enough to make the list at all.


The irony isn't lost to him, not in the slightest. Of all the ways that he could have imagined all of this ending this would have made the bottom of the list if it was lucky enough to make the list at all. You never expect to be betrayed by one of the very people you would normally consider a person you trust with your life. Normally you expect them to be the one to help you; normally you expect them to be the person to take care of you in your hour of need. But looking at his brother in front of him in the rain he knows not that it doesn't always work out to be that way, that life can be a mite unpredictable and that everything in the world can take you by surprise.

In that moment he thought about Kelly, about the way Wakefield's name lay inked into her skin, the dark lettering marring her pale skin like a badge of pain and hurt. He hadn't had the heart to ask her why she would want to put such a horrible reminder of what had happened on her flesh for the rest of her life and he wasn't really the type of person to judge. He himself had some rather interesting inking standing out against the paleness of his own skin. And she hadn't asked him what his was for so he hadn't thought it right to ask her to explain her choice in body art.

He had found himself running his fingers over the words written there though, the silent message that she had standing out starkly against her skin, a silent plea to the man that hung her mother from a tree to come back for her, to take her out of this world and drop her into the place her mother now resided, in whatever came after natural life ended. The words, so artfully crafted there, were as shocking as someone pouring ice water onto him the first moment he laid his eyes on them. The weight of her sorrow was laid out there for him to see.

It didn't take long to find out about how she had tried to kill herself before; didn't take time to find out about how much damage she had done to herself. Shane had alluded to it that first night at the Cannery just before J.D. had the uncontrollable urge to slam his face against the wood of the table. But alluding to something doesn't give that much date to be honest, doesn't let you know what is really going on.

Harper's Island was a small island though so it didn't take long to hear that Kelly had tried to kill herself before. All he had to do was listen in town after she was found dead, stand to the side and let people talk around him and through him as though he wasn't there. They kept saying that it wasn't a surprise that she hung herself, that she hadn't been right since Wakefield strung her mother up from that tree. Something inside of her had broken so it seemed as though they were all just waiting for the day that they would find her dead. (J.D. didn't believe that she had killed herself, he had seen how happy she was that day but who was he to argue with the popular theory? Small town minds don't tend to look much at the bigger picture of things.)

Looking at his brother he thinks that he was probably right about her not killing herself. He doesn't want to think that his brother was capable of that, of killing people but seeing him standing there with that knife in his hand, with the determined look on his face he knows he must be wrong. There's no reason for him to be pointing that knife at him unless he was capable of actually hurting someone and he wonders then if maybe Henry was the one who killed Kelly.

Was she scared, he wonders. Was she aware that she was about to die? Did she try to fight it at all or did she just let it happen? Did she happen to embrace the death that she had seemed to chase before? Was it a welcome release from reality for her?

He thinks that it's ironic, when the blade of his brother's knife sinks into his skin, that he himself had chased death for a while, that his brother had been the one to save him from it before, that his brother had found him and stopped him from ending his own life. His brother, the very man who is gripping his shoulder tightly, who is twisting the knife both literally and proverbially was the one who had saved his pathetic ass from certain death before.

He hears it then, the sound of footsteps and Henry's grip on his shoulder tightens and then he yanks the knife free, nearly shoves J.D. back and takes off down the dock, running away so that no one can see what he had done. J.D.'s hand goes to his stomach, the warmth of his own blood seeping out a sharp contrast to the cool rain coating his skin. Standing takes too much effort so he stops trying to, lets himself basically fall onto the wet boards of the dock. His body feels both on fire and like ice is eating away at him entirely. He knows that someone will find him; he knows they'll find him too late.

Despite himself he finds himself smiling at the irony of it all. Never once had he imagined that Henry would be the one to stab him in the back.

But at least he had done it by stabbing him in the front.


End file.
